


Maybe The Real Crackhouse Was The Friends We Made Along The Way

by Mr_Flamingo



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alcohol, Crack, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie sure thinks so, Himbo Bill Denbrough, Jealous Eddie Kaspbrak, Jealousy, LGBT losers, M/M, Piggyback Rides, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Richie Tozier kisses the homies, Richie Tozier’s jealousy kink, So Much Sexual Tension, Stanley Uris Lives, bev is seriously considering getting the scissors, does this count as emotional sadism?, dubiously straight Ben Hanscom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:42:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28756065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Flamingo/pseuds/Mr_Flamingo
Summary: On their last night in Derry, they get drunk.It’s a lot like their first night in retrospect, except much, much better without the threat of driving and clown killings hanging over their heads.(After fighting an inter-dimensional alien homophobe, the Losers deserve to have some fun)
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Comments: 17
Kudos: 76





	Maybe The Real Crackhouse Was The Friends We Made Along The Way

**Author's Note:**

> The whole time I was writing this I was thinking of The Gang Microcheats by Blissymbolics and skeilig, which may be the funniest reddie fic I’ve ever read in my life. I can’t figure out links or it would be but you should definitely check it out. 
> 
> As always this is dedicated to my lovely partner, who decided to jump headfirst into the IT fandom for me like a real champ, as well as every fanfic author who ever told me my comments were funny. Fucking enablers, all of them. This is for you babes <3

On their last night in Derry, they get drunk.

It’s a lot like their first night in retrospect, except much, _much_ better without the threat of driving and clown killings hanging over their heads.

They’re all hanging out in lobby chairs, with glasses and alcohol they pilfered from the unmanned bar. Stan’s saying something about marriage, and when he mentions the tax benefits a lightbulb goes off in Richie’s brain.

“Mike!” He shouts, and everyone looks at him. He points at Mike. “Mike, I just had the best idea!”

“No you didn’t.”

“No,” he insists, “I did. It’s—it’s the best fucking plan ever, Mikey, holy shit. Mike, marry me.”

“I’m not gonna marry you, Richie,” Mike laughs.

“No, no, no, listen. Listen. Hear me out. We get married—”

“He already said he doesn’t want to!” Stan calls out, and Richie shushes him.

“Shut up, shut up, he’s not gonna marry me if you fuck up my proposal!”

“I don’t want to marry you anyway.”

“You will,” he says, pointing at Mike again, “once you hear my ultra-rad amazing plan. Everyone shut up. Shit, I don’t remember what I was saying.”

“You get married,” Bev prompts, cheeks flushed red from alcohol and laughter.

“Yes! Yes, that. We get married.”

“Your plan sucks.”

“For fucks sake, Stan, I haven’t said the plan yet!”

“Well then get to it!”

“I’m fucking trying—okay. Okay, Mikey, we get married. We fucking elope. None of these judgemental fucks get to be there—”

“I d-d-didn’t even say a-a-a-anything.”

“Sorry Bill, we can’t make the others feel excluded. Okay, so Ben can be Best Man—”

Everyone explodes, yelling obscenities and objections. Ben takes a sip of whiskey, looking pleased.

“Ben is the Best Man,” he repeats, raising his voice over the calamity, “and Patty is my Maid of Honor—”

“What the fuck, Trashmouth?”

“Sorry, Bev,” he says, and she grumbles into her whiskey. _Deadlights buddies means nothing to a bitch._ He ignores it. “Anyways, we fucking elope, I simultaneously make my parents proud and disappoint them utterly by getting married to hunk with a heart of gold Mike fucking Hanlon without them. I get to come back to LA with a big strong man on my arm and the story of a whirlwind romance. You can be my coming out story, and I,” Richie pauses, raises his finger and takes a drink. “ _I_ can be your sugar daddy.”

“Eww, Richie.”

“Shut up, Bill, you’re just mad you didn’t have this super mega awesome plan first. So, Mike, how about it?”

“Can I come if I o-o-o-officiate?” Bill asks.

“Depends,” Richie says, “are you ordained?”

“Y-y-yes.”

“ _Deadass?_ ”

“Why would I lie?”

He shrugs. “Maybe you’re just trying to sabotage our union, Bill, I don’t know what goes on in that head of yours.”

“Well I a-am.”

“Are you ordained in the state of Maine?” Stan butts in to ask. Bill’s shoulders slump.

“No,” he sighs.

“Then _no!_ ” Richie crows. “Okay, Mike, super awesome wedding with your own personal money bank, Ben and Patty, and some stranger. Whaddaya say, wanna bleed me dry through our joint bank account?”

Mike looks like he may be considering it.

“Why Mike?” Eddie speaks up, knuckles white around his glass. He’s staring at him so intensely Richie can feel it burning holes through his skull.

He throws a shit-eating grin his way, and Eddie’s lips purse. “Who else would it be?” He asks.

“I don’t know, _me?_ ”

“You’re already married, Eddie baby, no can do. I wouldn’t want to be a _homewrecker.”_

“I already asked for a divorce!” Oh ho ho, he is _pissed_. This will be fun.

“Yeah, but you aren’t yet,” he points out. “You have to sign papers first. Besides, you don’t need a sugar daddy. You’re richer than me, you Wall Street motherfucker. The whole point of the plan is that it’s mutually beneficial to both parties! If I come back to LA with Old Spice over here on my arm, they will not only believe I’m gay, but they’ll believe I’m a gay with taste.”

“Mike is the opposite of your type, Tozier,” Bev says, trying to poke holes in his super awesome plan, as if he hasn’t accounted for all the variables. Shut up, Bev, it’s not his fault he likes short, angry guys who talk a mile a minute. This is why Patty is his Maid of Honor. “You wouldn’t know taste if it ate both your legs.”

“They don’t know that! Stop trying to find ways to make my plan fail, it’s not going to fail! I have thought this out perfectly. Mike is my coming out story, and then he can use the funds I get from telling stories about him to travel the world. It’s fucking foolproof!”

“Honestly,” Ben says, “it is a pretty good plan.” He loves Ben. Has he mentioned how much he loves Ben lately? He should tell him. He will tell him. Ben will be made known that he is loved by Richie Tozier.

“Ben,” he says, fulfilling his self-made prophecy, “I love you forever, and if Bev hadn’t snatched that up like a…like a Pokémon—”

“What the f-f-fuck does th-that mean?” Bill asks, and Richie throws his hands up, spilling his drink a little.

“I don’t fucking know, leave me alone. Anyways, Ben, if Bev hadn’t already claimed that ass, you would be included in my marriage proposal.”

“Thanks, Richie.”

“You are welcome. So, Mikey? We gettin’ married or not?”

Mike looks at him, opens his mouth, then something catches his attention and he looks away. Richie follows his gaze to Eddie, who’s quietly fuming in his seat. He practically has steam coming out of his ears.

“Sorry, buddy, I’m gonna have to pass.”

“Hmm?” He says, still staring at Eddie, who makes quick eye contact before returning to his drink.

“Your marriage proposal,” Mike clarifies, and he snaps out of it.

“Awww, come on, Mike!”

“Wait,” Bill says, “I’m ssstill c-c-confused about the Pokémon th-thing. Does sh-sh-she have to catch ‘em all?”

“Oh, fuck off Bill, it was the first thing that came to my mind!” Richie complains.

Stan grins. “She already got you and Ben, Bill,” he points out, and both men flush. Bev laughs loudly at the sight.

“I got Richie, too,” she says, and he blinks.

“Fuck, I forgot about that.”

“ _What?_ ” Everyone shouts, and he and Bev both lose it. Mike, Bill, and Ben wear matching flabbergasted expressions, Stan is curious, and Eddie looks fucking murderous. Patty, clearly enjoying the spectacle, giggles into her sangria.

He waves it all away. “Bev and I kissed once, just to try it,” he explains. They’d been smoking in the barrens, and hadn’t had anything better to do. They’d both figured hey, what’s the worst that could happen? Besides, Richie was curious, and maybe a little desperate too. Maybe more than a little.

Okay, a lot. But no one else had to know that.

“Why?” Bill asks.

“Why not?”

“You don’t even like girls,” Eddie grumbles, taking a swig.

“Brilliant observation, Eds. Remind me, how long was your marriage?”

He gets the finger, which he figures he deserves. It’s possible he went a little too far with that one. Kissing one girl when he’s fourteen isn’t exactly on the same level of compulsive heterosexuality as getting married to one.

“He’s a bad kisser, anyways,” Bev reassures, and his mouth drops open in betrayal.

“That is a _harsh_ assessment for something that happened twenty-six years ago, Ringwald. You weren’t exactly a transcendent experience yourself. Tell me, how’s the view up there? You know, from your high horse.”

“I can finally see the top of your head,” she replies. “Is this how you feel all the time?”

“Wait, wait,” Patty says, her valley girl accent in full force. “You were all friends as teens, right? So, like, did anyone else in your group kiss each other?”

“You mean besides party games?” Ben asks.

“Yeah.”

They all fall silent, thinking about it.

Oh. Oh. The memories that come up are…interesting, to say the least.

“I also kissed Richie once.” Mike blinks, staring off into the distance. He looks like he’s reassessing all his life choices. “Shit, I didn’t even need the clown magic to forget that. I’m pretty sure I blocked it out.”

“Shit,” Bill echoes. Richie grins.

“Something to share with the class, Billiam?”

“Y-you’re a whore.”

“Et tu, Bill?” Ben asks, with the wide eyes of someone who has to go home and think about their life. Everyone is staring at Richie now.

“What?” He demands. “Why are you surprised? Clearly, teenage me was a modern day Adonis.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie mutters.

“I th-think that defeats the p-purpose of modern day,” Bill says.

Patty’s giggling wildly. “Okay, okay, okay,” she says, “how many of you guys has Richie kissed?”

“Me,” Ben confesses, moving his eyes from Richie’s face to stare morosely into his glass.

“Jesus,” Eddie says again, “Christ.”

“Okay, does a-anyone else have anything to share?” Bill demands. “Stan? Eddie?”

He and Stan share a glance.

 _Say it_ , Stan’s eyes say.

 _You say it_ , his eyes reply.

Stan takes a drink.

Bill spews his beer out, and Bev’s loud cackle can probably be heard through the town. “Oh, no way,” she gasps

“Stan and I actually kissed twice,” Richie says, adding fuel to the fire.

“No shit?”

“Eight and seventeen, baby!”

“What the fuck?” Eddie exclaims, glaring at the ceiling.

“Were you _trying_ to get mono?”

“He was my first one, it’s not my fault you all fell on the bandwagon! Besides, Stan’s the one who suggested it, why aren’t you bullying him?”

“Because Stan didn’t kiss his way through the entire Losers club!”

Eddie looks like he’s going to have a conniption. “Not the entire club!” He protests, but everyone ignores him.

“Did you really suggest it?” Mike asks Stan, and lets out a considerate hum when he nods. “Me too.”

“I’m p-pretty sure I asked, t-too,” Bill adds. “I d-don’t know why.”

Richie gestures to them. “See? It’s not my fault everyone wanted a piece of this.”

“It was less that I had a crush on you, and more ‘you’re my best friend and I don’t know who else to ask,’” Stan deadpans, not mentioning the second kiss, which happened under very different circumstances and is honestly kind of embarrassing. He’s a real friend.

“Yeah,” Mike says, “I mainly asked because I thought he was the least likely to say no.”

Bill shrugs. “I just wanted to,” he says, which is not the answer Richie was expecting.

“What.”

“I w-wanted to?”

“Like…you wanted to experiment?”

His brow furrows. “I…not really?”

“What?”

“I dunno, I just w-w-wanted to.”

Richie blinks, dumbfounded. “Wanted to kiss a guy, or wanted to kiss me?”

“What’s the difference?”

“Oh boy.” Stan says.

“Uhhh,” Richie looks around. “Anyone wanna take this over for me? Anyone at all?”

“Nah,” Bev says, lounging in her seat, “you’re doing great.”

“I’m going to throw you into the quarry,” he tells her.

Bill looks at them curiously. “W-what’s wrong?”

Eddie starts chugging his drink.

“Okay, Bill,” Richie says, trying to put it as delicately as possible. Then decides _fuck it_ , and just says it outright. “I don’t know how to say this, but that is decidedly not heterosexual behavior.”

“What?”

“Yeah, dude. Wanting to kiss a guy just to try it, that’s…probably pretty straight. I think. I wouldn’t know, actually. Ben?”

Ben says, “I was a very confused fourteen year old, and I figured that since Richie teased everyone already, if he made fun of me it wouldn’t hurt as much. Also I could tell he—” he glances at Eddie, who’s glaring at everyone like he’s wondering how he should mark their graves, and changes directions, “—I mean, he was tiny and couldn't have beat me up if he tried.” Which is kind of sad, actually, he’s glad he only teased him a little.

“Eddie was tiny and he beat people up,” Stan points out.

“Which is why I didn’t ask Eddie.”

“I’m gay!” Eddie protests. “I wouldn’t have beat you up!”

“So is Richie!”

Richie points at him. “Right. Ben did it for experimental purposes. I did it because you guys asked me, and I was pretty sure those were the only times in my tiny teenage life I would ever get to kiss a boy, so I agreed. Stan and Mike aren’t straight either. But just wanting to kiss a boy, without, you know, a heterosexual explanation…that’s kinda gay, dude.”

“Oh.” Bill considers his glass. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Richie says, and takes a long swig out of his glass, right as Bill says, “I th-th-think I had a crush on you.”

He chokes.

“Oooooookay!” Bev says, effectively saving him from ever having to respond to that. Thank the Great Turtle God for Bev. Friendship is magic. “Let's go back to kissing, because this is very interesting. Did I ask you, or did you ask me?”

Eddie interrupts to say, “Can someone fill me back up?” He waves his empty glass around pointedly. “Anyone? Anyone at all? Oh, thanks, Mikey,” he says as Mike obliges him, and instantly starts downing his drink again. He’s going to be feeling that in the morning.

He tears his eyes away, making an _I dunno_ sound as he shrugs at Bev. She might’ve been the one to say it, but she’s really the only one he would’ve asked. The idea of teenage Richie Tozier asking to kiss a boy, with words that came out of his mouth, was an impossibility that he can barely even imagine. Stan didn’t count, because Stan already knew. But if someone else suggested it? He’d honestly thought that it would be more obvious to turn them down, which in retrospect made no fucking sense.

Sometimes he wants to take tiny, teenage him and shake the fucker until his brain shifts back into its proper place.

“So you never kissed him?” Patty asks Eddie, who shakes his head, looking dejected about it. “Did you ever, like, think about it?” Eddie turns red up to his ears and drinks instead of answering. Richie grins.

“You good there, Eddie?” He asks him, laughing. Eddie’s gotta be at least halfway to shitfaced by now. He gets another middle finger in response, and Stan starts laughing again, like the asshole he is.

“So, Richie,” Patty says, looking from Eddie to him with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Stan stops laughing to glance at her with the biggest fucking heart eyes he’s ever seen, like he knows where this is going, “I’m intrigued, now I have to know. Who was the best kisser?”

That…is an excellent question. He takes a minute to think about it, then another to revel in the attention he’s getting. Everyone is staring at him like he holds the key to life and death.

“Hmmm, that is an excellent question, Batty Patty. It wasn’t Stan, I’m sorry you had to end up with that disaster—”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“But Staniel,” he gasps, “whatever will your wife say?”

“His wife wants to watch,” Patty deadpans, and raises her glass when Richie laughs.

“Oooh, Miss Pattycakes gets off a good one! In all seriousness though, it was Mike.”

“Really?” Mike asks, pleased. Everyone else looks disappointed, as if not being a good kisser as a kid is a tragedy to rival the child eating alien clown.

“Yeah, dude, congrats.” Staring out at his friend’s sad faces, he asks, “What, do you guys want a ranking or something?”

“Yes,” Bill and Bev say at the same time.

“That’s not fair,” Eddie scowls, “I didn’t get to kiss him!”

“Missed your chance, Eddie,” Mike says.

“I mean…” Richie starts to say, but Mike looks at him. _You’re biased as fuck,_ his eyes say, _and I am not losing my first place spot._

Dammit, Mike is lucky that they all owe him.

“I mean, yeah, Eds, if you wanted to compete with your mom, you should have said so,” Richie says, making a kissy face at him. Eddie glares.

“Don’t call me Eds. I just don’t want to be in last place.”

 _Sure, Eddie._ It’s probably at least partially true, given the fact that he may have been the most competitive out of all of them. Board games, track meets, arm wrestling.

“Sorry, Spaghetti, you’re not in the running,” he says. “Order is, from worst to best, Bill, Bev, Ben, Stan, Mike, and Mrs. K.”

“I’m second to last?” Bev complains, right as Eddie growls, “For fucks sake, leave my mom out of this!”

“If your mom wanted to be left out, she should have told me last night,” he says, and he swears Eddie’s eyes flash red.

“H-how tall are you, Mikey?” Bill asks suddenly, apparently having moved on from their collective Richie crisis, and his own, special Richie crisis that Richie both wants to grill him about and never speak of again. It has the added bonus of effectively derailing the conversation, saving Richie from being attacked by a very tiny, very angry man. Although he’d probably enjoy it if Eddie got on top of him in any context.

“About six foot four,” Mike responds, amused and vaguely curious. “Why?”

“No reason,” he says, in a way that makes it very clear that there is a reason.

He doesn’t voice it until Mike has taken a drink. “Do you th-th-think you could lift me?”

Mike splutters.

“Do—do I—what?”

“Do you th-think you c-could lift me,” he repeats, unrepentant, and Richie raises an eyebrow. First at Bill, whose eyes are, understandably on Mike’s everlasting farm-boy biceps, then at Mike, who seems _very_ flustered by this little question. Eddie still won’t look at him, so shifts to Stan. Stan raises an eyebrow right back in agreement.

 _Was that there twenty years ago?_ Richie’s eyebrow asks.

 _Don’t think so,_ Stan’s says, _but it’s definitely something_.

After a bit, when Mike still hasn’t returned to capable speech, Richie says, “You’re fucking tiny, Bill, I could probably lift you.”

“No you can’t.”

“Yes I can.” The thing is, Richie’s not joking. He’s not exactly fit, but he is pretty broad and has a decent amount of muscle from it. He probably could lift Big Bill, and isn’t _that_ a novelty thirteen year old Richie wouldn’t have believed.

“No you can’t”

“Yes I can.”

“No y-y-you can’t.”

“I totally could!”

“Do it then,” Bill challenges.

He laughs. “What the fuck, Bill, I’m drunk. I’m not going to do it now.”

“Oh, well, g-guess you c-can’t—”

“Okay, I fucking will,” Richie says, and stands up. Bill looks positively ecstatic as he bounds from his chair to him.

He crouches down, and Bill, getting the memo, leans forward over his shoulder. After some brief adjustment, he stands up, with Bill laying around his neck like an unwound scarf.

The room erupts into cheers.

Richie strikes a pose—as much as he can, anyway, Bill isn’t quite as light as he thought he’d be—while Bill kicks him gleefully, the shithead. Richie should drop him.

“Woo!” Bev jeers, as if he’s actually wearing a scarf and not a full grown man across his shoulders. “Work it, Trashmouth!”

He does a few more, just to get a reaction, and then he’s just standing there. “What do I do now?” He asks, just to throw the words out.

“You put him down,” Eddie says, voice strained. He looks very bothered by all this.

“What’s that, Spaghetti? I carry him up the stairs?”

“No!”

“That’s a horrible idea,” Stan’s voice is flat as he makes deliberate eye contact with Richie in a silent dare. He gets out his phone.

“Stan’s right, don’t do that.” Ben sounds extremely distressed. “I don’t want anyone else to go to the hospital this month.”

“Actually, Stan thinks I should do it,” Richie says, sticking his tongue out.

Ben swivels around to stare at Stan, whose expression is unrepentant, in betrayal. “Stan is going to sell it on the internet,” Stan says.

Richie grins. “Even better,” he says over Ben’s increasingly worried protests.

Eddie’s got this pissed off look in his eye, the same one he had when they were kids and Richie ignored him to do something dangerous. _For fucks sake, Rich,_ he’d always snap, _this is why you shouldn’t do this shit. Next time I’m not gonna patch you up._ Never mind that Eddie had been right next to him, doing the same damn thing.

 _Sure thing, Dr. K_ , he’d reply, instead of _hypocrite_ , and keep doing it anyway. Eddie kept patching him up.

Bill giggles in his ear. “Do you th-think you could actually c-c-carry me up the stairs?”

“Uhh…” he eyes them, trying to judge how well he could juggle his inebriation, Bill’s weight, and how far he’d have to go. “Maybe?”

“Do it!”

“Do not,” Eddie snaps. “Put him down, Richie, this is stupid. This is so fucking stupid. You’re an idiot. For fucks sake, if you fall and hit your head I am not patching you up.”

“Sure thing, Dr. K,” he says, and then fakes heading towards the stairs. Eddie’s hold on his glass is so tight he’s half-worried it’ll shatter.

“Okay,” Ben interrupts, “this is hilarious, but Richie, do not carry him up the stairs. You will both die. Please don’t die.”

“Will we, though?” Richie snarks.

“I’m not willing to risk it until you’re sober and we can get a mattress.”

Richie groans. “Fine, spoilsport,” he says, and puts Bill down, ignoring Eddie’s enraged squawk.

“Oh, so you’ll listen to him but not me?”

“I’m a simple woman, Eds, I only listen to the lips I’ve smooched.” He makes a kissy face, and Eddie makes a weird face before taking another drink. His cheeks are flushed, and Richie wonders distantly whether he’s going too far with this.

Eh. He figures that either Eddie will fight him and the night will end well, or Eddie will jump him and the night will end _great_.

“Oh, now that’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one,” Stan says.

“I only listen to the best smoocher in the room,” He amends.

“I thought you said Mike was the best smoocher in the room,” Bev says. Richie ignores her.

“Is that what you see a-all the time, M-Mikey?” Bill asks, having reorientated himself with the world. His full focus is back on Mike, like the others aren’t even in the room with them. Hell, to him, they might not be. “The floor was so far a-away,” he continues, “i-i-it was like I was flying.”

Mike raises an eyebrow, casting a glance around the room in a silent plea for help. Richie smirks when he gets to him, and he sighs.

“You want me to carry you, don’t you.”

“No, it’s okay. Y-you don’t have t-t-to,” says Bill, who is literally vibrating in anticipation.

Mike sighs again. “Come here.”

Bill already looks like he’s flying as he bounces over. Mike leans over and pulls him across his shoulders in the same move that Richie did before, but much smoother.

“Happy?” He asks. Bill kicks the air in agreement, the biggest grin Richie’s ever seen on his face. He notes that Bill is avoiding hitting Mike’s sides. Well, good for Mike, but Richie is going to have fucking bruises now. Fuck Bill and his goddamn weird sexuality not-crisis and homoeroticism. Richie was there _first_.

Speaking of homoeroticism.

“Eddie?” Richie says. “You wanna drink some water or something?”

“‘M not thirsty,” Eddie mutters, and Bev coughs out something that sounds like “ _liar_.”

“Nope, c’mon, water time. You’ve had like four glasses of that shit.”

“It is not shit, fuck off,” he says loudly.

“Whatever you say, Spaghetti,” he says, peering at him. Eddie squirms under his gaze.

“What the fuck do you want?” He snaps, and a lightbulb goes off in his head.

“Oh, _I_ see,” Richie says delightedly. Eddie scowls.

“Not with that prescription, you don’t.”

 _You’re jealous_ , he doesn’t say. No need to point out the obvious, especially considering it’s the goal he’d been aiming for in the first place. “You want me to pick you up, don’t you?” He says instead.

“No,” Eddie says, like a liar.

“Yes you do.”

“No I don’t.”

“Aww, Eds, don’t you want me to lift you up in my big, strong arms like a sack of potatoes?” He coos, and Eddie turns red from his neck to his ears. Okay, maybe Richie should lay off, just a little bit. Except Eddie looks really cute like this, the same way he looks cute all the time, and Richie refuses to deny himself this after twenty-seven years.

“You couldn’t handle me, Tozier,” Eddie snaps, and oh, that’s a challenge if he’s ever heard one.

“Oh yeah? Wanna bet?”

“Fucking fine.” Eddie throws back the rest of his drink and stalks over, impressively stable, and Richie wonders if this is something he should really be doing right now. He might throw his back out or something, and that’s not sexy at all.

Then Eddie says, “Bend over, I’m not fucking doing this _Bill’s_ way,” and every thought he’s ever had flies right out the window.

 _Bend over_ , he said. The words ring in Richie’s head like a very loud, very horny bell. Oh, he is in _trouble_.

“Bend over? You know, that’s what your mom—”

“Shut up about my mom. Shut up about my mom. Do _not_ talk about fucking my mom right now. Do not. Now shut the hell up and give me my piggyback ride.”

“Shouldn’t I be kneeling for that?”

“I don’t want you on your fucking knees, would you even be able to get back up, old man?”

“Hey, fuck you,” he says, very carefully avoiding the thought of being on his knees for Eddie. Nope. Nuh-uh. Not thinking about it. He will not be thinking about it. Or he will, but not surrounded by all his friends. No sir. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Stan muffling his laughter into Patty’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean kneeling that far down.”

“Whatever, just be less fucking tall so I can climb on your back, fucknuts.”

“Bossy little gremlin,” Richie says, grinning, and complies before Eddie can come up with a retort.

He’s still grumbling as Richie hooks his hands under his legs, only falling completely silent when Richie stands up straight. It’s so unlike him that he starts sweating even more than he already was.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, this was a mistake. This was very much a mistake. He misread the situation and Eddie’s going to tell him to fuck off and he’s going to have to jump back into Neibolt and beg the clown to come back and kill him—

“Fuck your shoulders,” Eddie says, and it’s so nonsensical it breaks him out of his panicked spiral. Eddie wants to…what?

He blinks, deliberately keeping his thoughts from running south, and grins. “What’s this about my shoulders?”

Eddie ignores him, but Bill calls out to him from across the room, where he’s still slung around Mike. “I know, right?”

“Shut the fuck up, Bill,” Eddie snaps, his grip around Richie’s neck tightening. He coughs, and it loosens. “You goddamn whore. You don’t know shit.”

Bill’s only answer is a shiteating grin, and Eddie’s grip tightens again.

Richie decides not to say anything about it. If he dies being choked by Eddie, then he dies being choked by Eddie. Not such a bad way to go.

Stan looks at him, and then rolls his eyes. Shut up, Staniel, not everyone has a cool wife who orgasms six times a night. Some people have to get their kicks off of making the man they’ve had a crush on their whole life jealous. He expresses this the only way he can.

He sticks his tongue out.

“H-h-hey, Richie, what’s th-th-th-that tongue do?” Bill asks teasingly, and Eddie snaps.

“What the fuck, Bill, you can’t just ask people what their tongue does!” He exclaims, ignoring Richie’s snorted _Okay, mean girl, let's bring it down._ “That’s fucking disgusting. No one wants to know what it does, what the fuck. Richie, do not answer that. I will kill you right here. I could get away with it too, no judge would acquit me. Turtle god wouldn’t even bring you back, that’s how justified I would be. Keep your mouth shut.”

Richie opens his mouth, because of course he does, and Eddie slaps a hand over it and keeps it there, even after he sticks his tongue out and licks a wet stripe up his palm.

“He’s jealous,” Bill says in Mike’s ear, in a voice that was probably meant to be a whisper but is very much not. Mike winces.

“I am not. You—you fucking— _you’re_ jealous,” Eddie sputters.

“Am I?”

“I—yes, fuck you.”

“I think you m-mean f-f-fuck Richie,” Bill cackles. Richie is very much losing oxygen right now.

“Hey, uh, Eddie?” Ben pipes up. “I think Richie is dying.”

“Serves him right,” Eddie says, tightening his grip before releasing him and taking the hand off his mouth. He tries not to be sad about that, and mostly succeeds.

“Oh my turtle god,” Bev gasps, “you were into that.

Okay, maybe not as successful as he was trying to be.

He grins, sharp and unrepentant, and she grins right back before her gaze drifts upwards, and she winks. Eddie’s grip tightens again, and he shifts his hand so it lays innocently on the side of his neck. Richie swallows.

“Oh, are we exposing Richie right now?” Stan asks. “In that case, he cries during sex.”

Patty spits her drink all over him.

“Patty!” He complains.

“Stanley,” she shoots back. “Did you and Richie _fuck?_ ” She doesn’t seem jealous about it, but delighted, as if her husband having sex with a childhood friend was the funniest thing to ever happen to her. Richie’s almost sad he’s going to have to disappoint her.

As soon as a certain someone let him breathe again.

He taps Eddie’s arm, and he lets go immediately. He probably didn’t even realize he was doing it. “Staniel wishes he could get this.”

“Do I, now,” Stan says, sounding unamused, but Richie’s on to him. He sees that twinkle in Stan’s eye, and he knows exactly what it means, because Stanley thinks he’s fucking hilarious.

“Yep. Now c’mon, Eds, down you go.”

“Not my name,” Eddie mutters, but obliges. Mike must have been waiting for him to break first, because as soon as Eddie’s on the floor he says, “Okay, Bill, you too.”

Bill pouts, looking like he’s about to fall asleep perched right there. “No.”

“Bill, I’m forty years old.”

“Farm boy,” he counters dreamily.

“All right, you leave me no choice,” Mike says, and pulls Bill off his shoulders himself. Bill doesn’t struggle, just lays there limply in Mike’s arms.

Mike drops him on the couch. He curls up and goes straight to sleep.

“Wow,” Richie says, staring at him. “He had two drinks.”

“Can we go back to what Stan said?” Eddie demands, pressing close. “What the fuck was that. Why does he know that?”

“Stanley doesn’t know shit,” Richie says, right as Stan says, “It’s an educated guess.”

“You’re an educated guess,” he snips.

“Great comeback.”

“Thanks, I try my best.”

“Educated off what?” Eddie asks. Richie very carefully does not look at anyone in the room, or think about being seventeen, or do much of anything at all.

“Who he is as a person,” Stan says, and he can breathe again.

“I will neither confirm or deny,” Richie says, knowing full well what the answer will be. “Anyone who wants to find out has to do it themselves. Sorry, Ben, I know you were curious.”

“It’s okay,” Ben says from his seat in the corner. He’s been watching them with a smile on his face. “If you started crying, then I would start crying, and it would just be a mess.”

“A mess, you say?” Richie waggles his eyebrows.

“Okay,” Eddie finally breaks, grabbing his arm and dragging him towards the stairs. Richie tries not to look too happy about it, in case he turns around and sees. “Okay, we’re going to bed. Don’t disturb us unless someone is either dead or on fire. _Goodnight_.”

Catcalls follow them out, and the minute they’re out of sight Eddie whirls around and slams him against the wall.

“You,” he growls, low and dangerous, “are impossible.”

“So,” Richie says casually, as if he’s not being pressed against the wall by the source of every one of his teenage fantasies, “do you think Bill is going to get his divorce before or after sleeping with Mike?”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Eddie snarls, “about Bill. Bill can choke.”

“He’s your best friend.”

“I don’t have a best friend. I don’t have any friends. Every person in that room is going to end up in a dumpster.”

“Oh, you’re _jealous_ jealous,” Richie says delightedly.

“You spent the whole fucking night talking about how you’ve kissed all our friends except me,” Eddie hisses, like a particularly terrifying predator. This probably goes on the list of things Richie shouldn’t find adorable. “Bill got to hang off your _stupidly_ broad shoulders like a whore.” He moves to hold Richie’s shoulders in a death grip. “I thought you slept with Stan for a minute. _You asked Mike to marry you_. Fuck you for that, the minute we get out of this hellscape I’m putting a fucking ring on it before anyone else can.”

Oh. Richie blinks sudden tears out of his eyes. “Not if I do it first,” he says.

“If you buy me a ring in Derry, I’ll say no and seduce Ben.”

“Bev may actually kill you.”

“She can try.”

“Your funeral,” he shrugs, looking at the small amount of space between their bodies. It would be so easy to lean closer, but… “Hey, uh, Eds, not to sound like I’m not eager or anything, but you’ve had kind of a lot to drink, and…”

“It’s your goddamn fault. I’m going to end up an alcoholic because of you.”

“Cool, we can be AA buddies.”

“No, Richie.” Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose and looks up. His eyes are burning. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” he says. “We’re each going to get a shower. I’m taking mine in Ben’s room. Then, we’re going to go to sleep. When we wake up in the morning, I’m putting your cock in my mouth, and we’ll see how my blowjob skills hold up after fifteen years. Sound good?”

Richie’s legs are going to give out. “Ha,” he says weakly. “Yeah, that’s…uh, that’s cool, yep. One hundred percent. Pip, pip, Cheerio, my good chap.”

“The fucking British guy?” Eddie demands. “Now? Really? I’m going to tell everyone your dick is three inches and you like role playing as an emu in bed. Also that you baa like a sheep when you cum.”

“Threats like that only work on someone with dignity,” Richie says, with a dopier smile than the situation calls for. Eddie keeps his glare up.

“I’ll sell it to TMZ.”

“Bill’s wife will tell them otherwise,” he says, and uses the moment of shock to break out of Eddie’s hold and run for it.

“What the fuck,” Eddie shouts after him. “What the hell does that mean? Richie, what the hell and fuck does that mean? Did you sleep with Bill’s wife? Richie!”

“What?” He hears Bill, who has apparently woken up, ask, and he cackles madly before shutting his door and locking it. He is definitely not getting laid tomorrow.

Worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Not mentioned but Patty is trans in this 
> 
> None of you asked but Bill doesn’t get a divorce because he and Audra have an open relationship and when she meets Mike she falls in love with him immediately and the three of them are in love because *leans too close to microphone* MIKE DESERVES IT
> 
> Richie’s joke about Audra knowing what his dick looks like is based off of this tumblr post where they have a sex scene together early in their careers. https://skinks.tumblr.com/post/190975025599/bill-tells-the-losers-over-dinner-at-the-orient 
> 
> It’s canon for this sorry gays my fic my rules B)
> 
> Last note I promise but in better world Mike and Richie really did get married and Mike took a break from sightseeing other countries to travel the US with Richie during his tour and in their free time they got up to Shenanigans and got kicked out of 18 different places and I just think they deserve that. If I wrote it I would tag it tax benefits to lovers


End file.
